


When September Comes Again

by auntbijou



Series: The September Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:40:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auntbijou/pseuds/auntbijou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life comes full circle for everyone, including Muggles...</p>
            </blockquote>





	When September Comes Again

 

I never thought this day would come. Never.

Not that I’m not looking forward to it, mind. I look down at my youngest grandson, who is clinging tight to my hand for the moment, though he’s got it down where no one can see it. At eleven, he considers himself too old to be holding someone’s hand, but then I’m his old grand-dad, I’m _special_

“Right,” he says with determination, and he watches as the family walks up, then pats their son on his shoulders and gives him a little push. The boy nods, fixes his hands firmly on his luggage cart, then starts to run. A trunk, a cat carrier, and a carpet bag totter and bounce as the cart rattles. The boy’s feet move faster and just when it looks like he’s going to crash... the wall swallows him. 

My grandson gasps and his mouth falls open. I grin. “See?” 

He’s too stunned to reply. I laugh softly and thrust the hand not holding his deep in my pocket as I stare around the station. It’s September 1st again and I’m back. I haven’t been here in years, not since we fled back during the Wizard War. That’s what we’re all calling it. It even made the papers, probably because it spilled into our world. Got out just in time, we did, because it turned out, us what worked at the station wasn’t as invisible or unnoticed as we had thought we were. My missus and me, we got out, and we managed to get our daughter and her husband out, but we had nothing to come back to when it was over. Them Death Eaters came to our home, and when they didn’t find us there, they destroyed it. Burned it straight to the ground, just out of spite. Even burned my allotment, they did, and the compost I’d been working so hard on. Ah, well, what mattered most was me and mine were safe and well and _alive_. Beyond that? I really couldn’t care. Spent the entire war in Florence, we did. Spent all the money I’d squirreled away for retirement, but there it was, I didn’t care. 

“Grand-Dad, Grand-Dad, here comes another!” My hand is tugged demandingly and I smile as I emerge from my memories. This group looks familiar, all the red hair, and I’m startled when I realize that the tallest red-head isn’t the father I remember from my years of working here, but the youngest, lanky son of that father. The sense of time that had briefly escaped me suddenly rushes around me, making me all too aware of its passage. There’s a shout, the red-head turns and waves and I look to see a familiar head of shaggy black hair on a much taller, broader frame than I remember, running up to meet him. I feel tears sting my eyes and when the face turns toward me, I see that little boy again, the little dark-haired chappie in glasses, so thin, so ragged, and here he is, all grown up with sprogs of his own. And apparently, married to that red-headed girl made of pure stubborn who is hurrying up behind him and fussing at their children. 

I know who he is now, of course. It was in all the papers after it was all over. I haven’t paid much attention since, too busy trying to pick up the pieces of our lives here, finding a new home, finding a job because... I just couldn’t return to Kings Cross, not after... not after I found out about Robert Entwhistle. Poor Rob, killed when he was trying to shield a group of regular students who’d picked a bad day to cut class. He’d gotten them to safety, shoving them through a maintenance tunnel access and using his own thick body to shield their escape... but he’d paid a price. The wizards, though, after the war, they’d called him one of the war’s Muggle heroes, put his name on a memorial with a bunch of others just outside the station and I appreciated it. But I couldn’t go back. 

Still, it does my heart good to see Mr. Potter, grown up, happy, and with a family of his own. It tells me all is right with the world, and all is as it should be. 

“Grand-Dad! Grand-Dad!! Can we go in now?” 

I look down at Toby, smiling, my heart aching when I think that my daughter and son-in-law are missing this. Killed by a drunk driver three years ago, they was. Me and Meg, we’ve been raising their kids, and they’ve been a comfort, I don’t mind saying. The oldest is off on his own, settling into his own apprenticeship, though I argued against it. “But Grand-Dad,” he’d said, “I’ll never be out of a job. I could get a college degree, yeah, but there’s no guarantee I’d get a job after. But Grand-Dad, there will always be a need for a plumber, and good plumbers are _always_ in demand.” 

Couldn’t argue with that. The second oldest, though, she’s set with a good scholarship to a good uni, and I’m right proud. But this one? 

“Grand-Dad, come on!! Come _on!!_ ” My hand is tugged again, and laughing, I follow him. A soft hoot comes from the covered cage on top of his trunk as we start wheeling the cart toward the brick wall. I grin as Toby pauses, trying not to burst into laughter yet again, because the memory of when that big, brown owl came swooping in through the open back door of our house, an envelope in its beak, is still too new, too wonderful. An envelope that was addressed to Toby Cotton. And when I saw the Hogwarts seal on the back? 

No. Stunned does not even cover it. Flummoxed doesn’t come close. Gobsmacked maybe, but not quite. 

But... I _was_ happy. Because, to tell you the truth, I really wasn’t that surprised. To put it simply, our Toby is special. And when the tall, curly haired man with the earth-stained hands came to visit, telling us he was one of the teachers at Hogwarts and had been assigned to escort us to buy supplies for Toby? It just confirmed things. 

“Grand-Dad,” says Toby breathlessly, staring at the blank wall. “Will it really work for us?” 

“I’ve only seen it fail once, Toby,” I say quietly. “Besides, Professor Longbottom said it would be fine.” 

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing hard. He’s not holding my hand any more, but he does reach forward to lift the cover on the cage and take a good look at his owl, Zaphod, as if reassuring himself that it’s all real. “Yeah, well... let’s do it, then.” 

I lean down. “Shall we both run, then?” 

Toby looks up at me, then smiles, mischief and adventure alight in his eyes. “Yeah.” 

Robert Entwhistle’s son, Douglas, comes walking by, looking sharp in his uniform. He gives us a nod, then looks at Toby in surprise, a slow grin spreading across his face. Yes, one of our own is finally going through the mysterious gate, and I know by the time I get back, word will have spread through the entire station. And I know what they’ll say as I start running with Toby, my hand steadying the cart as my old heart starts racing with an excitement that is no less than my grandson’s. 

About bloody time. 

 


End file.
